Blood Will Have Blood
by CaptainClo
Summary: Four Children, made separately yet in pairs; a pair of siblings & a pair of friends. Apart for much of their adolescence, these people learned to survive on their own, without their partner in tow. Some handled this learning curve better than others. These are both the separate and intertwining stories of Miss Edith Cushing, Dr Alan McMichael, and Sir Thomas & Lady Lucille Sharpe
1. Despair Has It's Own Calms

_"_ _There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights."_  
― Bram Stoker, Dracula

* * *

Ashy sleet covered everything in a most depressing grey. It was almost as if the angels, safe on their heavenly peak, were shaking dirt from their gilded shoes onto the ungodly abominations below. If a creature were to wander out on a day such as this, a sorry soul it would be indeed. Not two feet in front of you was visible, yet in the midst of all this maddening grey and stark white, unseen by angels and creatures alike, stood an intimidating figure. From a kilometre away, on a day with clearer sight, the figure was small enough to mistake for a homely barn - but as one moved closer, the unassuming speck became an all-encompassing eye, keeping a silent watch on the comings and goings of it's moorish estate. Allerdale Hall was the most dreadful place to be in the throes of a winter storm. But not always as dreadful as one might think, for a burden shared is a burden halved in it's intensity. Albeit Miss Lucille Sharpe - at the tender age of fifteen - had more weight on her shoulders than her younger brother, a Sir Thomas Sharpe - who came in at just 8 months her junior (he had been a premature birth), but was found lesser in responsibilities nonetheless. Lucille didn't mind, of course, for her brother was a shining light of hope in a world blanketed by cruelty and despair.

Around the age of two, Lucille had found a dusty baby name book when sneaking around the numerous bookshelves in the family library and found that the name 'Thomas' came with it the signification of 'twin' which, from that moment on, she had affectionately called her brother. But the title held more significance than it's definition to both Lucille and to Thomas. Ever since they could remember they had been more like twins instead of mere siblings. On the rare occasion when there would be guests at Allerdale Hall, Lucille and Thomas' bond was always found too unnerving for them to be with company for long. Synchronised gestures, intense observation, and the way one always seemed to be in contact with the other was seen by visitors as eerie and disturbing. That was said to be the reason why the attic had been a home within a home for the children for the past eight years. A cage within a cage that Mother locked whenever Father was away, sometimes even forgetting to feed her own flesh and blood for days at a time. The only comfort they had had throughout the years had been each other; the toys Thomas would make, the tunes Lucille would play on a small piano kept in the corner, and the stories they would share with each other - the sole comforts of such neglected young creatures. But on blustery days when the cold chilled to the bone, it was hard to see outside of oneself.

"Is it not the epitome of ironic, Thomas - that although Father's strikes and blows do cause me to bleed and bruise...it is Mother's insults that take the deepest and most unrelenting root in my heart," young Miss Lucille sat down next to her brother on the tattered grey love-seat that had stood the tests of time. "Dumb Lucille, talentless Lucille, repulsive Lucille. One would have the right to assume I was used to these verbal barbs by now, and yet they continue to find their mark."

Thomas tightened his grip on Lucille's stocking-covered knee.

"You are not one of those things, Luce," he stated quietly.

"I wish for a hide of steel, so that everything; Father's belt and Mother's words - may rebound off of me and return to it's creator, doubled in strength and tripled in accuracy. Revenge would be such a sweet dish, my darling twin. It would taste so sweet. Like that of sugared cream. I can taste it now, teasing my lips. But it is more than that. The rusty shackles I feel tethered at my ankles and neck...fall loose at the promise of retaliation!"

A fervent look had now taken over Lucille, and a deeply embedded guilt was running it's course through Thomas' heart.

"I wish you didn't let Father hurt you so," he said, awkwardly patting his clammy palm on Lucille's knee, as if to calm her spirit.

An indignant scowl presented itself on Lucille's pale forehead as she pushed her brother's hand away.

"You would prefer it if I let him at you?" she said.

"I would prefer it over you taking my punishments."

"Well then I'm so terribly sorry for protecting you! I didn't know you hated safety so much!" Lucille had gotten up and was now pacing erratically in front of the seat, her eyes like fire and ice set directly on her younger brother.

"Please stop twisting my words, Lucille.." Thomas begged.

"Perhaps I should go tell Father you're ready for your beating!" she spat.

"You're not going to do that." The constant calm in Thomas' voice was infuriating to Lucille.

"Oh you really think so? Maybe I'm tired of protecting you! Maybe I shall hit you myself in order to teach you some manners!" Stopping in front of her brother, Lucille raised her arm as if to strike Thomas.

"You won't do that either, Lucille." Looking up at her from beneath his lashes, his large blue eyes seemed to drain the rage out of Lucille almost immediately, her arm lowering as she sunk back onto her previous position on the couch.

"No. No, I won't. I couldn't...I could never..."

The whistling wind and pitter-patter of snowfall could be heard through the silence that permeated the room. A silence that could not have lasted two minutes or more, but felt like much longer to the pair, until Thomas decided to break the silence with his small but steady voice.

"I wish you could understand how thankful I am. I know sometimes I do not seem it, but I truly am thankful. For everything that you do. In this world of brick and clay, there is only you," edging closer to Lucille, he took her hands in his own, "Everything else is dust, you understand? You are all I have ever known of love and kindness. Everything is lost to me except for you. You are mine, and I am yours, Lucille. We are One. For eternity."

A silence fell between them much like clouds do right around dusk - quietly and quickly creeping into every pore. Staring intently into each other's eyes, the air surrounding the teenagers felt heady and thick, yet sparked with a static electricity.

Lucille could see every detail on Thomas' face as he began to lean towards her. Sun-kissed dust scattered around his head, turning his curled ebony locks into that of a golden, shimmering halo. His cheeks were flushed the most delicious rose and he had a half lidded, almost dazed look about his eyes. They had kissed each other on the cheek and forehead before, in times of comfort and solace, but this moment felt different. She did not want to turn her head away from his ruby lips, and he did not look like he wanted her to either. As Thomas moved his face to only an inch or two away, Lucille's heart crept into her throat and a tremble began in the lowest part of her abdomen that burned and buzzed to all her extremities. She could not help her eyes fluttering shut, or her mouth opening slightly as a sigh betrayed her impatience. It was excruciating, to blindly wait for what would happen, but Thomas had always loved suspense. He was so close now, Lucille could hear his breath catch as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His intoxicating warm musk swam about her, making it seem as if he were everywhere and nowhere all at once.  
Then suddenly two hands cupped themselves on her face, and she felt his lips flutter across her forehead.  
Kissing her eyelids.  
Her nose.  
Her cheeks.  
Her chin.

And finally; a heated kiss, searing it's mark on the corner of her mouth.  
A hand snaked it's way into Lucille's hair and grasped firmly the back of her head. So hot, so strong was this kiss that Lucille had begun to tremble, her own hand finding purchase on Thomas' chest. All of her body, each minuscule cell ached for his lips to find proper contact with her own.

And then Thomas was leaning back - his hands and lips now entirely his own again - the embrace having ended all too quickly.

Words would spoil the moment, so a meeting of minds took place instead.  
Through each other's eyes they each saw a future filled with more hope than they once thought possible. The greyish mist they had lived in up until that moment burst into colour. Tart yellows, silky blues and lush greens swam into view, exploding both into their field of vision yet also into the hollows of their chests. Both were breathing heavily now as this power of perception was opening their world view. And just as Lucille began to believe she might go blind with the colourful possibilities, one more colour bled into their shared sight.  
As Lucille and Thomas closed their eyes, the last shade to caress the space beneath their eyelids was  
the most  
delicious  
and deep  
burning  
crimson

red.


	2. No Legacy is so Rich as Honesty

"It is a wise Father that knows his own child"

\- William Shakespeare

It was a warm Summer's day in Buffalo, New York. A day for being out in Nature, enjoying the gifts she had given unto man - not to spend cooped up doing endless amounts of paperwork, like Carter Cushing. Luckily enough, young Alan McMichael had visited around noon and asked if Edith would like to accompany him to the park. Edith had accepted (she loved to be out and about on days such as these) and then forced Carter to tag along as "on a day such as this you deserve to have a breath of fresh air and some sunlight, Father. Come along!"

She had always been a sweet little thing. A clever thing, too - just like her Mother. So much cleverer than he could have ever hoped. He didn't doubt that if little Edith's looks hadn't resembled his own, that the legitimacy of his parentage might have been put into doubt. He never worried on that, though, as Edith's looks had always taken after her Father - although purer, much purer than he could ever be. A brighter blonde, with clearer blue eyes and less of a ruddy look to her skin. To anyone with a pair of working eyes, she was the perfect example of a pretty, young girl of the era.

But she was so much more than that. As well as being a sweet and clever little thing, she could be a peculiar little creature too. The other children seemed to pick up on the more unconventional parts of her personality. It worried Carter to the bone. Except for young Alan McMichael. Carter assumed that even if Edith had warts and a leer, Alan would still find her suitable as a friend.

Both Edith and Alan sat underneath a large red maple tree to shield themselves from the glaring sun, an old green blanket flung beneath themselves in order not to get dirty. Edith had closed her eyes to properly enjoy the cool wind upon her cheek. It was such a warm day, Carter was suddenly glad she was only thirteen, as he supposed in another three or four years he would be taking her to buy her first proper corset. It had always been a matter of eternal confusion for Carter Cushing, the secrets behind why women confined themselves the way they did - but he supposed it was something he would never know, so the pondering never developed into actual answers, which irked him terribly. He was a simple, hardworking man who praised honesty above all things; he was not a fan of secrets.

"And yet," he thought, "there is a secret laid out right in front of me."

Although as it seemed to be quite an obvious secret, Carter was fine to let it be. With Edith's attention elsewhere, Alan (with looks equally as fair as his daughter's, and an intelligence to match) had his gaze focused on her face.

Carter was not a man of many words, but he had always had a near-psychic ability to see people for who they truly were; he supposed it was his honest nature that granted him to see the honest truth in others. The look plastered on Alan's face had so much depth for a boy so young. His adoration was obvious, yet there was still more to Alan's look than first appeared. Fascination mixed with pure fondness shone from his eyes; an equal amount of intrigue and awe was obviously there.

Below that was a layer of inspired euphoria, as if he were basking in a light that only Edith could give.

A third layer gave itself away the longer he looked at Alan; an overwhelming belief of inferiority. Or perhaps an acceptance of meekness was the right term? Another layer was to be found beneath all that melancholia; which was a deep-set feeling of frustration.

It would have been easy to think that the deepest layer, etched into the lines of Alan's brow - would be the hardest to uncover. In reality, it was this layer that broke through nearly all others; yet hidden so deep the poor boy probably wasn't even aware he had these sensations. Carter could see it though, and the words for it came easily enough to him. Pure anguish and despair was what it was; slow suffering paired with...something else. A plea? A prayer? An invocation? These words came close to the aching worship Alan's eyes held; but they did not compare truly to it's physical form. It was as if Alan were attempting to produce an enchantment with a fixed stare as his only ally. This bold look seemed to be focused on willing Edith to do something or other, and the frustration from the previous layer seemed to be directed by the fact that whatever powers-that-be just weren't working with him at this time.

Carter felt quite sorry for the boy; never had he ever found such a multi-layered intensity in someone so very very young...except perhaps in Edith, but again only very rarely. Before his beloved Maura had passed, she would always look at Alan and Edith with a knowing smile. He'd always assumed it was wishful thinking on his wife's part, as Edith didn't give many people the time of day, let alone seem to like anyone in a romantic sense. Again, Carter's thoughts returned to his daughter's detachment from others. It would probably worry him more if Edith didn't seem so at ease by herself. Once, Carter had watched his daughter sit by herself in the park for the best part of an hour as four and twenty children her age played and chattered all around her; and still it had not upset her.

Carter sighed - he supposed he'd been much like that himself when he was young. Even if a personal isolation didn't run in the family, it's not like he could go out and make friends for Edith; but if he did have that power, he couldn't imagine a closer or finer exemplification than Alan. Relief flooded his system; Alan would always be there for Edith, of that he was certain.


End file.
